Page 48 of Ne'er Duke Well
“Patience?” Selina laughed into the soft roundness of Thomasin’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t say I have that by the thimbleful, let alone in abundance.”
“Isn’t this where we started? With your strengths?” Thomasin waited until Selina pulled back and met her gaze, and then smiled up at her. “You have a whole well of patience, my darling. You simply haven’t needed to use it until now.”
Chapter 12
Cauliflower velouté with hazelnuts. Eight quails, garnished with watercress.Beef braised in brandy and mustard.Charlotte of apples and apricots.
—from the menu of Her Grace Daphne Ravenscroft, Duchess of Rowland, hastily annotated by Selina: “No cognac!”
Peter took the carriage to Rowland House for the dinner party with Lord and Lady Eldon.
He’d have preferred to walk. Hell, he’d have preferred to ride, gallop a horse down Rotten Row and back half a dozen times before dropping it off in the mews at Rowland House. Perhaps he’d be worn out enough to stop his mind from spinning through frustration and guilt and simmering regret before he had to face the Eldons.
And Selina. He had to face Selina.
What had he beenthinking?
Christ, he knew the answer to that. The answer was the same as it always was—he hadn’t been thinking. He’d been wanting, sodesperately that his mind had gone quiet and all he’d been able to see was Selina, her mouth trembling as he pulled back from the impossible heaven of her body.
He wanted her, nothing but her. And he hadn’t been thinking of the children and how he needed to marry for them. He’d been thinking of the harsh gasp of her breath and the raw-silk sound of her voice.Peter. Don’t stop.He’d been thinking about how goddamned much he liked her, and how tired he was of hearing her try to pair him with someone else, and how much he wanted to lift her skirts and taste even more of her.
Eventhat, surely, would have been less idiotic than asking her to marry him.
He didn’t know if he wanted to find her and apologize or hide out in his office with one of the last remaining bottles of cognac and lick his wounds.
But instead, he was on his way to Rowland House, because she’d been right when she said that the children needed him. He was dressed in the most ducal thing he owned—according to Humphrey, his valet, who had far more experience with English dukes than Peter did—and he’d taken the carriage just as he was supposed to. He would be perfectly polite. As English as he could manage. If he could’ve stripped away his accent for this one night, he would have, as much as it burned him to admit it.
For the children, he would do more than that.
Lord and Lady Eldon were already at Rowland House when Peter arrived. He was ushered into a sitting room that he hadn’t previously encountered—this one held a pianoforte, fine mahogany furniture upholstered in ivory, and a handful of liveried footmen.
He couldn’t keep his eyes from flickering across the room. Lady Eldon was deep in conversation with Lady Judith Ravenscroft andThomasin Dandridge, Lord Eldon with Rowland. On the settee, the Duchess of Rowland had her head bent over the cover of a book—and beside her, equally engrossed, was Selina.
He tried not to look at her face, at her mouth. Tried not to see if her expression changed when their butler announced his name.
Judith Ravenscroft was the first to welcome him personally. She barely inclined her silver head, and a footman was already at his side to offer him refreshment.
“Good evening, Your Grace,” she said. “Welcome back to Rowland House.”
“Thank you. I’m only sorry I couldn’t bring Freddie and Lu this time. Freddie hasn’t stopped talking about this house since we left. Something about Palladian windows?”
Her face, normally severe, softened slightly. “A future architect, perhaps. Bring them back another time.”
He wanted to. After his disastrous proposal in the Townshends’ library, it didn’t seem terribly likely. But he merely nodded and let Lady Judith shepherd him toward John Scott, Baron Eldon and the lord high chancellor.
Also the arbiter of Freddie and Lu’s future.
The chancellor himself stood in a corner, chatting with the Duke of Rowland. Nicholas was tall—an inch or two taller than Peter and probably a full four or five above Eldon. Eldon was a solidly built man in his mid-sixties, his worn face bracketed by heavy white brows. He was scowling.
“I tell you, Rowland, you’ve got this by the wrong end,” he was saying grimly as Lady Judith and Peter approached.
“Your objections, Lord Chancellor, while noted, will have to wait,” said Nicholas easily, turning his stance to bring Judith and Peter into the conversation.
Eldon made a gruff sound of disgust and turned a sharp blue gaze onto them.
Lady Judith presented Eldon to Peter. He still wasn’t used to it—having people presented to him ever since his ducal elevation, rather than the other way around. It seemed absurd to pretend that Eldon needed to beg for Peter’s gracious acceptance of the introduction, when they both knew perfectly well that Peter was the petitioner here.
He tried a relaxed smile on Eldon.
